Remember James?

I'm sure everyone but me has forgotten that we said we were going to keep writing and critiqing like we did in Creative Writing. And I'm sure you're all too busy with school et cetera to critique. But I wrote more of that James story. It's turning out to look more and more like a novel and less like a short story. I'm sure I'll never actually finish it, but I'm enjoying it so far.

As he walked to his history class, James was startled by a call of “Hey, James”. No one ever called to him in the hallway. If he heard his name, it was usually one of the three or four other Jameses at his school who they were talking to. He turned casually, so he wouldn’t look stupid if it turned out to be another James being called to. It was Trey.
“Hey, you’ve got a camera, right? I’ve seen you carrying it around.” It wasn’t odd that Trey had noticed him carrying the camera. James’ camera was huge. It was heavy and black and square, like a piece of electronics from the nineteen eighties. It had been his grandfather’s and, though his photography teacher had recommended getting a more recent piece of equipment, James kept it because it reminded him of his grandfather. He also kept it because it made him feel like some kind of camera aficionado. Like lovers of classic cars, he pictured himself telling someone with a fancy new camera, “They don’t make ‘em like this anymore. Back then they knew how to make a real camera. Not like this modern crap.”
“Do you have, like, a dark room and all that stuff?” Trey asked. “No, I usually just use the one at school.” James always used the one at school.
“That’s no good. We won’t be able to use it over the summer. And if we wait all summer, it’ll never actually get done. You’ve gotta jump on these things quick and finish ‘em fast, or else they never get done.”
“What things?”
“It’s this project I’m working on. Well, I’m not actually working on it yet. It’s just an idea I have.” Trey tilted his head up (he had to tilt it down talking to James) as if he had just heard something that he was trying to identify. “I’ve got this friend. I think she’d let us use her darkroom. We should go over and ask her.”
“We,” James said. “Uh…when?” The bell wrang.
“After school.” Trey’s reply made it sound like the next few classes were an annoyance. Something in his way.
“Okay,” James said.
During his next class he asked to go to the bathroom and then went to the front office and asked to use the phone to tell his mom not to pick him up after school. It took some convincing, but his mother eventually agreed to let some kid she didn’t know give her son a ride.
[transition goes here]
Trey knocked, and a few moments later the door opened on a girl who looked a few years older than Trey. She had mid-length, straight dark hair pulled behind her ears. She wore jeans with two or three generous holes at the thighs and a yellow t-shirt so old and that its lettering was no longer legible. And she was beautiful, with an aquiline nose and [other features, to be filled in later]. She smiled immediately when she saw Trey, letting go of the door knob and giving him a quick hug. “Who’s this?” she said, seeing James.
They both looked expectantly at him. “Uh,” he said, realizing Trey wasn’t going to answer for him. “James.”
“Hi, James. I’m [think of name later]”James was immensely grateful to her for not saying something like “’Uh James.’ What a funny name.” He liked her instantly.

Dominic holds the photo of Holden in the foreground, as Holden himself walks by in the background. They are clearly the same person. Holden is walking quickly, looking at the ground. He’s wearing a backpack and the same large headphones as in the photo, the cord to which disappears into the backpack.
Dom: Now way.
Dom: Hey! You! Kid! Wait! (A few of the people around probably turn their attention to Dom. This is, after all, not New York, and shouting in the street is not normal.)
Holden doesn't hear and keeps walking.
Dom follows Holden and grabs his shoulder
Dom: I said wait!
Holden: Ah!
Holden turns to confront his assailant and pulls the headphones down around his neck.
Holden: (angrily) What?
Dom: I just want to talk.
Holden: Who the hell are you?
Dom: My name’s Dominic. I’m…here to help you.
Holden: Well, thanks “Dominic,” but I think I’m alright.
Holden starts turning to go and begins to put his headphones back on.
Dom: You’re lying.
You know you need help, but you don’t know who to ask.
Holden: Wait a minute. You’re with that Gabriel freak aren’t you?
Dom: He’s a…friend of mine. I suppose. But listen-
Holden: No, you tell that weirdo I don’t want him anywhere near me. I’ll fucking call the cops.
Dom: Gabriel’s not a real people person, but there’s hardly any-
Holden: Just stay away!
Holden begins walking away.
Dom: You have magic powers.
Holden stops.
Holden: What?
Dom: Magic powers. Like…Harry Potter.
Holden: I hate that shit.
Dom: C’mon. Everybody likes Harry Potter.
Holden: You guys just keep getting weirder. First this guy tells me he’s an angel, now you’re telling me I have magic powers.
Dom: Actually, I don’t know that you do for sure. But it seems likely. Most do.
Holden: Most what?
Dom: Prophets. That’s what you are. You’re a prophet.
Holden: Right, and now you tell me I’ve gotta save the world or some shit. I don’t know who you are or what you want with me, but just leave me the fuck alone.
Dom: You don’t believe me?
Holden: No!
Dom: Then why do you want to believe me? Why does is seem so true if its all bullshit?
Holden: What the hell are you-
Dom: I’m very good at reading people. You’re scared to believe what I’m saying, but at the same time you want it to be true. You do need help, and you know I’m you’re best chance at getting it. You also think using a lot of tough language will make you seem more mature.
Holden: Fuck you!
Dom smirks. Holden smiles sheepishly, realizing Dom is right, at least about the language.
Dom: Let me buy you lunch. We’ll talk.
Holden: Okay. But somewhere public. I’m not getting into your van or anything.
Dom: Do I look like a pervert?
Holden gives Dom a look, as if to say “yes.”
Dom: Shut up.

New Scene. Dom and Holden sit in a restaurant.
Dom: You’re a prophet. Chosen by God. God exists, by the way.
Holden: What, you’ve seen him?
Dom: Sort of.
Dom lights a cigarette.
Dom: Sorry, I don’t mean to be cryptic. But it’s kind of hard to put into words.
Holden: But why? Why me?
Dom: Why anybody? Why do people get in car accidents? Why do people get cancer.
Holden: People get in car accidents cause they’re not looking where they’re going, and they get cancer because they smoke cigarettes.
Dom looks perplexed as to how to deal with this kid.
Holden: Can I have one of those? (refering to the cigarette)
Dom: How old are you?
Holden: What are you, my dad?
Dom hands him a cigarette.
Dom: What’s your name, by the way?
Holden: Holden.
Dom: Like-
Holden: Yes, like Catcher in the Rye. No, I haven’t read it.
Dom: You should. It’s good.

Writers write, or so I'm told.

I haven't written anything for months. I'm getting some ideas, I want to get them down, but I cut left index finger at work and got three stitches and its in a little finger cast thing and it's very difficult to type. When I get these stitches out, I will totally start writing.

more comic book

A Greyhound bus. Dominic is sitting in the back. Maybe listening to music (Miles Davis) or maybe reading a book (maybe Paradise Lost. Maybe Harry Potter). Shot of the bus, engine sputtering. Bus driver looks perplexed.
Driver: Sorry about that, folks. We’ll be on the road in just a few minutes. Meanwhile maybe you’d like to stretch your legs for a bit while we figure out what’s wrong.

People look disgruntled but start getting off. It’s night on a stretch of road in the middle of nowhere. Flat ground. Barbed wire fences on either side of the road. There’s a twisted old black jack oak tree on the far side of the road. Dominic gets off the bus and heads toward the tree. He leans against it and lights a cigarette. A dark figure emerges from the other side of the tree. Dom turns his head as she speaks.

Fury: And what is this? The angel who is not an angel. The man who is not a man. What brings him out of his hole?
Dom: Fury. What are you doing here?
Fury: It was curiosity compelled me to seek you out. We’ve not seen the King of Runaways on the move for some time, have we?
Dom: [sudden realization] you broke my bus!
Fury: Will you save the day, Dominic? Redeem yourself? Oh, they will love you again, won’t they?
Dom: What do you want, Fury?
Fury: Only to see you suffer. I must admit that seeing you torture yourself alone all those long centuries hadgrown rather dull. It fills me with joy to see you care about something again. Do you know why, Dominic?
Dom: I don’t care about anything you have to say.
Fury: It is because this, like everything you have ever attempted, will end in ruin.

Dom turns and begins walking away.

Fury: Ignore me all you want. It makes no difference. We will meet again soon enough.

Dom gets back to the bus. It starts up again like nothing happened.

Okay, I need your help. Robbie Leftwich and I are writing a comic book that Jacob Cowden says he'll illustrate. I'm assuming most of you don't read comic books, but you do know dialogue and characterization and rising action and all that goodness. I wrote this. I think it'll be the first couple pages of the book. Let me know if my dialogue is stilted and unnatural.

A Waffle House. Dominic walks in. He’s a young black man in a gray, slightly rumpled suit. He begins walking to his favorite booth. He stops when he sees someone already sitting there. It is a tall, handsome white guy. Blonde. Red sweater-vest. There’s an untouched cup of coffee in front of him. He’s smiling.

Dom: Gabriel. How did you know where…? Nevermind. Why are you here?
Gabe: Dominic. You’re still calling yourself that, right? Sit. Please.

Dominic sits.

Dom: Well, what brings you here? I assume it’s not the coffee.
Gabe: Alright. I’ll get right down to it. We have a mission for you.
Dom: [surprised] A miss- I didn’t realize I was still on the payroll.
Gabe: Payroll?
Dom: Never mind. What makes you think I have any interest in helping you?
Gabe: I expected you’d jump at the chance. You’ve been out of the loop for so long, you must have forgotten what it’s like.
Dom: I remember, Gabriel. Don’t think for a second I don’t. But if you think…

The waitress comes.

Waitress: You need a menu, hon?
Dom: No, just coffee, thanks.

Waitress goes.
One panel of Gabe and Dom looking at each other across the table. Dom lights a cigarette.

Dom: So what is it? It must be pretty bad if you’re asking me for help.
Gabe: There’s a new prophet.

Dom looks surprised.

Gabe: He’s just a boy. And he has no idea who he is. And he won’t listen when we try to tell him. We’ve tried everything. I come to him in his dreams. I try talking to him in the waking world.
Dom: Did you come to him like that?
Gabe: As a human?
Dom: In those clothes.
Gabe: You're a fashion expert now? I don't think my clothes are what drove him away.
Dom: You probably look like his dad.

Gabe doesn't seem to understand.

Dom: Did you show him your wings?
Gabe: Yes.
Dom: The radiance, the flaming sword, the whole bit.
Gabe: Yes, yes.
Dom: Did you tell him not to be afraid?
Gabe: Of course.
Dom: I still don’t get why that never seems to work.
Gabe: [pause] You’re being sarcastic.
Dom: Sorry.
Gabe: No, that’s…that’s fine.

Waitress comes back with the coffee.

Dom: Thanks.
Waitress: Need anything, holler.

Waitress leaves.

Dom: Why? Why another prophet after so long? Why now?
Gabe: I can’t tell you that. What I can tell you is that it’s important. It’s absolutely vital.
Dom: Why me?
Gabe: You…understand them.

Gabe looks around at “them.”

Gabe: I’ll admit it. Freely. I don’t know what it’s like being human. And I don’t really want to. But you…
Dom: Yeah.
Dom: What does this kid look like? I’m not saying I’m doing it. Just…
Gabe: Of course. I’ll show you. Give me your hand.
Dom: No, we’re not doing that. It creeps me out.
Gabe: Fine. Check your left jacket pocket.

Dom produces a photo of a teenage kid. Dyed black hair. Piercings.

Dom: Damn it. He thinks he’s a rebel.
Gabe: Hm? Oh, the piercings. Is that what those indicate?
Dom: That’s a hell of a thing to do to a kid. He won’t even know what a prophet is, and you want him to change the world for you.
Gabe: Not for us. For them.
Dom: Right.
Dom: If I do this…
Gabe: I’m not going to bargain with you, Dominic. You either want to do this or you don’t. What it comes down to is how much you care about them.

Three panels, nearly identical. First: Dom opens his mouth in what's about to be another sarcastic angry comment. Second: He shuts his mouth and thinks. Third: Dom: Okay. What do I do?

Let's do this like Brutus.